


Perhaps Tomorrow

by deletingpoint



Series: Supernatural codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, Gen, Just Mary feeling out of place, Mary-Centric, Post-Episode: s12e03 The Foundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletingpoint/pseuds/deletingpoint
Summary: She starts to read the journal again, tracing the handwriting with her fingers. It’s mostly about cases, but she knows her man, she could sense how her death had changed him. The words that were chosen, the little notes on the edges, the pen almost making a hole in the paper. Like that man, buried alive and taking the children with you. You don’t do something like that to children, to your own kids. It hadn’t been her John anymore. And in the beginning, she was the one who made that deal. How could she have sold her own son? Something unforgivable.





	

 

She doesn’t really know where to go. She has some money, a few things and a phone, that was all she packed. So, for a minute she regrets her decision – where would she go? Then she clutches her husband’s journal to her chest (not her husband, hadn’t really been that for years), breathes deeply and steps on a bus. How many times had she pictured herself leaving? Years ago she had dreamed of leaving behind the hunting life, even her parents, but she never could, they were family. And in the end twisted and hateful fate had made that decision for her and she couldn’t lose John as well and then Sammy…

She can’t finish that thought. Now, she has her sons and she loves them, she really does, that love will always remain. But she couldn’t recognize them. Two grown-ups, older than Mary, two hunters, who were still so gentle touching her. Perhaps she could’ve stayed, if they hadn’t called her mom. She wanted to be their mom, but she just wasn’t, she couldn’t see them as her own. She couldn’t even see who _she_ was. If only John was here, something familiar in this new and changed world.

She starts to read the journal again, tracing the handwriting with her fingers. It’s mostly about cases, but she knows her man, she could sense how her death had changed him. The words that were chosen, the little notes on the edges, the pen almost making a hole in the paper. Like that man, buried alive and taking the children with you. You don’t do something like that to children, to your own kids. It hadn’t been her John anymore. And in the beginning, she was the one who made that deal. How could she have sold her own son? Something unforgivable.

Sam has grown up, has become a good and understanding man who looks at her as if she was something precious. She isn’t, she is anything but. And Dean, so happy to see her, always wanting to be near, to take care of her, while she can’t even cook, she couldn’t even hunt properly. She doesn’t belong with them, she doesn’t even belong to this world.

She doesn’t want to cry, so she just stares out the window, looking at this changed world. Everything changed, except her and her feelings, that don’t have a place any more.

 

She walks from the bus-stop on a street she used to know and stands, staring at the house she lived in, just a few days ago. The house where she died, taking a large piece of her husband with her. Leaving her boys behind. And now she left them again. The way Sam’s eyes had pleaded her to stay, to fill the blanks; the way Dean couldn’t even look at her, rejected her touch. But she wasn’t the one they loved, how could she be? How could she be their mom?

“Mary? Mary Winchester? Is that really you?”

Mary turns around, finding an old lady with almost grey hair looking at her. She doesn’t recognize her, Mary’s hand moves to draw out a knife.

“It’s alright, no need to stab me or anything, Missouri, I’m Missouri Moseley.”

Missouri?

“You don’t really know me, do you? I know your boys, and I knew your John. I’m psychic you see?”

A psychic. There is something familiar about her name. She knows the hunters’ network, she knows that name. She relaxes, a psychic.

“Yeah, I was pretty famous back in the day. These thought you having? They ain’t gonna do you any good.”

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” she says, meaning her house, her old house, the home.

“I know, honey. One day you’re dead, the next your whole life has gone by. You’re lucky I found you, been eyeing the house still.”

“Has there been troubles?”

Missouri glances at her: “Nothing for you to worry about, come, I’ll get you a glass of something stronger.”

 

Missouri pours her some very strong liqueur with an aspirin aftertaste.

“I just don’t belong. I come from the past, but I don’t have a past shared with anyone. I want to be who I was a few days ago, but … if I was I would be dead. So I need to know who I am now, I need to find a way to connect with my boys, but I don’t want them to tell me who I am or how to live. I want to find it out first, so I could tell them. I want to get to know them, to love them not because they’re my sons but because they’re good people. They deserve that. And I want to know who I am. Do I sound like a teenager, Missouri?”

“Oh, we’re all teenagers in heart.”

“It’s nice. To talk to someone without expectations,” she smiles remembering how Castiel had told her she belonged. “Isn’t it wrong that I feel more connected to a literal angel than my own sons?”

“That might happen, if you’re dead for three decades.” Missouri comments without asking for explanation. “I think you’re right, you should find out who you are instead of fitting in how they see you. But, honey, shouldn’t you call them? Let them know you’re all right and staying with me. Because you are staying, I will hear no argument about that!”

“I have a phone,” she hears herself saying.

“You don’t know how to use it?”

“I do, I do, now. But how do I, I left,” her voice almost cracks at the thought of how much she continues to hurt her babies. Even if they were grown-ups she didn’t really know.

“All right. I’ll call and let them know, that better?”

Mary smiles gratefully. Perhaps she will be able to call them herself tomorrow. She pushes John’s journal further away and instead plays with the rings dangling from her neck. She can feel the tears and lets them come. Perhaps tomorrow she won’t see the world being wrong. And perhaps she won’t feel herself being wrong.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> 


End file.
